Wanderer
by the river
he looks lost
his face appears ancient
in rumination
under the sycamores’
embracing shade
thinks he might see
God
he meets no God
in this heaven
of sacred groves just the rippling river
rushing over stones
and pebbles
as if it has
somewhere to go
and cannot wait
he stands still
and contemplates . . .
©Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
wetting my feet
in the old pondI pause to remember
-
how many steps
to the edge of the world
she wants to know -
we were wingless
until we knew loveour breathless breath
lifted us
into rainbows -
in its gurgling sprint
toward the seathis river into which
I empty love’s ashes— -
unaware, you become
resigned to
where you find yourself
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